Tired
by jambaby1963
Summary: Another misadventure for our favorite elf and ranger. Please read and review.


Tired  
  
Another misadventure for our favorite prince and ranger. The whole adventure is below; no chapters to wait on! What more could you ask for!  
  
Oh, please read and review. Thanks!!  
  
I do not own anything remotely related to any of the characters or the actors that portray them.  
  
The wind blew through the trees creating a soft mixture of shadows that danced along the ground. The noise it made was haunting and lonesome and the creature that traveled along the path through the trees could hear their song of peace. It was soothing in a way, comforting and calming.  
  
Legolas had been traveling towards Rivendel when his horse was spooked by a pack of wolves. So great was her fear, he had been unable to stay upon her back. Rearing up high on hind legs she had kicked out at their attackers, striking one and scattering the rest. Unable to hold on due to her jerky, panicked movements, Legolas had fallen from her back, landing on his back.  
  
The wind was knocked from his lungs and it was several seconds before he could catch his breath and rise to his feet. The movement sent a quick pain through his side and he wondered what damage had been done in the fall. He did not have long to think on it as the remaining wolves closed in. Her fear overwhelming her, his horse bolted back down the path, leaving him alone in the darkness of the night. The wolves attacked immediately, but even injured, the elf held his own. Though over a dozen strong, half their number fled when the first of their brethren fell to the swift strokes of two long elven knives.  
  
Within minutes, the pack had turned away, leaving the bodies of five of their number on the forest floor. Legolas bled from several wounds, a long scratch on his right forearm that went nearly to the bone, a bite to his right calf, and another deep scratch to his left cheek. He sat heavily for a moment as his adrenaline level returned to normal.  
  
When he recovered enough to stand, he whistled for his horse and waited for her return. After several minutes, he whistled again, but still there was not response. Most of his gear had been on this horse, he carried but a small pack containing a supply of food for a day or so, his flint and steel, a length of elvish rope, and his tools for arrow making. His water skin had been lost, the leather punctured by the sharp teeth of one of the wolves. He made his way to the edge of a small stream that ran alongside the path. It was cold as ice, having come off the mountains, but the elf barely noticed the temperature. Using a scrap of fabric ripped from his tunic, he cleaned the wounds inflicted by the wolves. His side was stiff and breathing was a bit difficult, indicating that he either had several cracked or broken ribs.  
  
He was at least three days from Rivendel but more than five from his own home. Turning westward, he headed toward the closer destination. He traveled on through the early night with only slight twinges of pain to hamper his journey. Toward midnight, he climbed into the low branches of a tree and slept fitfully until dawn. He was unable to get comfortable. His side stiffened as he rested and his arm and leg ached. Leaving the trees before even dawn approached, he was soon on his way.  
  
His wounds throbbed and his side ached as he continued on toward Rivendel. After all this, he thought, Estel had best be at home and not out roaming with the rangers, or worse, his brothers. Those three always seemed to get into trouble when they traveled together; the twins often sought out orcs or other vile creatures in their self-appointed task of ridding Middle Earth of these creatures.  
  
He traveled all that day, stopping several times when the ache in his side became too much. The thought of food turned his stomach, but he stopped to drink whenever he came across the small stream that still meandered alongside the path. As the day wore on, he became more weary and this seemed to intensify the pain he was in.  
  
At sunset that day, he looked for a likely camping spot, and found one within a small circle of trees. The ground dipped down creating a natural windbreak. He started a fire as he was uncharacteristically shivering in the cool autumn air. Leaning up against a tree and crossing his ankles, he was unable once again to find a comfortable position. He tried lying on his back, his good side, and even tried to get comfortable in one of the trees, but his wounds were throbbing miserably and he could not get comfortable. The scratch on his arm had turned red and the area around it was hot to the touch. The arm itself was swollen and tender. His leg did not pain him quite as much, but his side ached immensely. Breathing deeply was almost out of the question. The scratch on his face felt tight and he kept pressing his hand over it. Small traces of blood were still appearing on his hand when he did this, he supposed that every time his facial expression changed, the wound was pulled in a different direction.  
  
After several hours, he simply gave up. He put the fire out and gathered what few things he still had and headed west once again. If he was lucky he would reach Rivendel in two days time, though the thought of traveling two more days in the condition he was in seemed impossible. Having no choice, he simply kept on, putting one foot in front of the other.  
  
By midday, he could go on no longer. Leaving the path he followed the sound of running water until he came to the stream again. Kneeling next to the cool water, he splashed his injured arm, which was red, swollen, and now weeping a clear fluid. The coldness of the water shocked him at first, but he kept at it. After several minutes, the arm became numb. Leaning over, he took a drink, and then settled back against a stout tree that grew alongside the water.  
  
Legolas closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest around him. With his eyes closed, his head spun uncomfortably and he quickly opened them. Inspecting his arm, he decided it was definitely infected. He could barely touch it, it was swollen and hard and extremely painful. He scanned the area, looking at the various plants that were growing, wishing he knew something of healing like Estel. Many different plants grew here at the foothills of the mountain, but Legolas could not distinguish between them. He had seen Estel many times simply pluck the leaves from a plant and state they would help whatever condition he was in. He wished he had paid better attention.  
  
A sound caught his attention and he listened intently for several moments before he recognized it. A horse and rider were approaching from the direction of Rivendel. As the elf struggled to his feet, the sound intensified and he realized it was more than one being headed his way. The world swam dizzily as he stood and he gripped the tree behind him in order to remain on his feet. Two and a half days with barely any sleep at all was also affecting him.  
  
Knowing that the only riders that used this path in daylight were those riding either to or from Rivendel, Legolas was confident it was an elven patrol of some type. Even the few men that were allowed to venture into Rivendel would know him and be able to help him.  
  
With the path at least a hundred meters away, Legolas began picking his way back through the forest. The riders were approaching slowly, as if in no hurry. Legolas realized then that if this was a patrol from Rivendel, he was closer than he thought. Hope sparked through him and he tried to pick up his pace. He held his wounded arm to his chest, trying to protect it from stray branches and low brush as he swept through the undergrowth, but every step he took sent a jarring pain through the limb. His side as well ached fiercely, intensifying when he would twist to get around something.  
  
The riders were still a quarter kilometer away when he heard them pick up their pace. In response he picked up his own pace, which was not a wise thing to do seeing as he was already somewhat unsteady on his feet.  
  
A dozen meters from the path, his foot caught in a root and he sprawled to the forest floor. He tried to catch himself with his good arm, but his momentum was too swift and he landed hard. He cried out in pain as his arm and side made contact with the ground. He gasped and his eyes widened, and it was several seconds before he could breath out. His agony grew worse as he looked up from the ground and saw the riders pass him by. Through the trees, he could not tell who they were, but the colors they wore indicated they were from Rivendel.  
  
He tried shouting to them, but his voice was swallowed up by the wind and trees. One rider actually paused for a moment before prodding his horse to catch up with the others. He continued to shout until he could no longer hear them on the path.  
  
He lowered his head and lay panting. Hot tears escaped from his eyes as he clamped them shut. A deep breath that turned into a sob made his body shudder. He lay that way for several minutes, despair nearly claiming him.  
  
At last he gained control of his emotions and tried to push himself up. The pain in his side had doubled, if that was possible, and his arm felt on fire. There was a new scratch alongside the old one, this one not nearly as deep, the gift of a stray branch in the path. Blood welled up and ran down the length of his arm, soaking into what remained of his sleeve.  
  
At last he was seated on the forest floor, dizziness nearly overwhelming him as he propped himself up with his good arm. His stomach, though empty, revolted due to nausea and he found himself retching helplessly onto the forest floor.. The feeling passed eventually and Legolas regained his feet. Using the small trees as support, he made his way back toward the stream. Though it was a cool day, sweat ran from his face and he could feel it dripping down his back as well. He collapsed at the edge of the stream, leaning heavily on a fallen tree trunk.  
  
He splashed water on his face and took a drink. He was too weary and in too much pain to move then. The old scratch on his arm was now bleeding again, and a thick greenish fluid leaked from it as well. Signs of infection, which was not good. At this point, Legolas knew that he could very well perish here from the minor wounds he had received in the attack and from exposure he was now not equipped to handle, not more than two days journey from Rivendel. Deciding he would not go without a fight, the prince once again struggled to his feet and made his way slowly back to the path.  
  
He traveled on through the afternoon, stumbling and nearly falling every dozen meters or so. He knew he was running a fever, which weakened him all the more. His hope was that he would encounter another patrol, as long as he stayed on the path, and as the afternoon wore on and his thirst increased, he still didn't dare leave the path. Though his mouth was dry due to fever, he didn't dare head for the stream. He did not want a repeat of what had happened already to occur again. The sun began to set and the moon rose slowly behind it, and still Legolas continued on.  
  
Throughout the night he traveled on, not stopping now because he knew if he did, he might not be able to get himself started again. It was in the early hours of the morning that he began to hallucinate. At first he imagined that the wolves had returned, but every time one would leap toward him and he would duck down, it would disappear. Legolas clutched one knife in his good hand, still not comprehending what was real and what was not. He swiped out at the invisible beings, nearly toppling himself over in the process. Slowly the vision faded and his sigh of relief started and old owl that was perched in a nearby tree.  
  
He walked along the path, the bright moonlight causing a shadow to be cast on the ground in front of him.  
  
"You know what my father will say when he sees you, my friend?"  
  
Legolas turned to stare into the laughing blue eyes of his best friend.  
  
"Aye," he answered simply.  
  
"He will not be happy at all. You know he thinks you are cursed."  
  
"He is not the only one who thinks that Estel. My father also has these same suspicions."  
  
"Well, anyway, we will be in Rivendel by nightfall tomorrow. Do you think you can hold on that long?"  
  
Legolas wondered at first why his friend didn't offer his own healing skills. The slight pounding he was feeling in his head seemed to intensify.  
  
"You know, if you were any kind of friend, you would help me. I do not know if I have the strength to go on that long. I am so very tired."  
  
"You? Tired? Not the prince of Mirkwood," Estel replied sarcastically.  
  
"Aye, tired, though I hate to admit it to anyone..."  
  
"You will make it," Estel interrupted. "You always do. Just a bit farther, my friend. You'll see."  
  
A wave of dizziness swept over him and he stopped to close his eyes until it passed. The pounding in his head grew worse and when he opened his eyes to speak to his friend once again, he was gone.  
  
"Estel? Where are you?"  
  
He took a few hesitant steps, searching the side of the path and up ahead, but his friend was not to be seen. The moonlight bathed the area in white light, and if Estel were near, he would know it.  
  
"Did I imagine you?"  
  
There was no answer, and as the throbbing in his brain intensified, he dropped to his knees unable to continue.  
  
"I cannot, my friend. It is too much. Let me rest, just for a minute."  
  
Holding his head in his good hand, Legolas tried to massage the pounding away. It was as he sat there quietly, breathing softly and trying to push the pain aside that he realized that the increased sound he heard was coming from behind, from approaching riders.  
  
Relief flooded him as he tried to stand and turn to face whomever was coming. This close to Rivendel, he was sure it was not a foe. He managed to get just one leg underneath himself, but it did not hold, and he found himself falling to the ground just as the riders came into sight.  
  
His mind was swimming and bright yellow spots danced before his eyes, but he struggled to stay conscious. His would be rescuers dismounted and knelt by his side. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the being that was leaning over him.  
  
"Estel? Are you real this time?"  
  
Estel looked at his brothers in concern, then back down at his friend. He did a quick inspection of his friend's body then quickly rose and removed his pack from his horse.  
  
"Legolas, what happened?"  
  
"Ada will not be happy about this," stated one of the others as he shook his head.  
  
Legolas tried to follow the conversation around him, but it only served to increase his dizziness and so he choose to focus only on the young man that once again was hovering over him.  
  
"It was a wolf, and my horse ran. I am alright, really, just tired."  
  
The young man snorted at this statement.  
  
"Yes, your version of 'alright' differs greatly from that of others."  
  
"As it does yours, little brother. Elladan, do you remember the incident with the trolls? Do you remember Estel saying he was alright then?"  
  
"Aye, I do, my brother."  
  
"And then there was the time with the wargs...and the orcs... and"  
  
"Enough, you two. Help me with him. This infection is bad, and I think he has at least one or two broken ribs."  
  
Doing minor surgery in the field was not the most ideal situation, but Estel knew if he did not take some of the pressure that had built up in Legolas' arm away, permanent damage would be done. Searching though his pack, he found a small, clean knife and a roll of bandages.  
  
"You will need to hold him Elrohir, this will hurt," stated the young man.  
  
Elrohir maneuvered around the prince and lifted him slightly so that Legolas rested in his arms. He wrapped both of his own arms around Legolas' upper arms, carefully avoiding any more pressure on his ribcage, and hooked his feet over his friend's legs. He nodded that he was ready and Estel gently picked up Legolas' wounded arm.  
  
"Listen, my friend," he began, making sure Legolas was focused on him. "This is going to hurt. A lot. I am going to make a cut alongside this one. It will relieve the pressure and once the pain passes, you arm will feel better."  
  
Legolas licked his lips and nodded, to tired to do anything more. Holding his hand steady, Estel made the cut with one swift, sure stroke. Legolas' arched his back against the pain, nearly bashing Elrohir in the face with the back of his head. He could not stifle the scream that the pain caused. Bright red blood and thick green fluid welled from the cut and Elladan and Estel expertly cleaned the new wound and then bandaged it tightly. Legolas lay panting to near hyperventilation in Elrohir's arms. Estel added some pain-killing herb to his own water bag and helped his friend drink. Within minutes, the pain had dissipated somewhat and Legolas was able to relax.  
  
"Alright, my friend, it is done," spoke Estel as he gently wiped the hair from his friend's face.  
  
"We need to get him back to father. His arm is still infected and I do not carry the proper herbs to heal him."  
  
The twins lifted Legolas between them, careful of his broken ribs, as Estel remounted. They placed the prince in front of their brother gently and then mounted their own horses. Estel pulled Legolas up to lean against him, trying to cradle him and protect him from the jarring movement.  
  
"What am I going to do with you my friend," whispered Estel to himself, thinking that his friend had lost consciousness.  
  
"What you always do, Estel," the prince whispered back.  
  
They were silent for several minutes.  
  
"You passed by earlier today."  
  
"Aye, we did. You were not on the path then, we would have seen you. What happened to you?" questioned the young human.  
  
"There were wolves in the foothills and my horse panicked. She is probably back in Mirkwood by now. The wolves were few, but I was caught off-guard."  
  
"You were lucky, though that does not explain why we did not see you earlier today."  
  
"I left the path to drink at the stream. I could not get back in time to attract your attention. I did not know it was even you."  
  
"So you have been traveling all this time," stated the human shaking his head in wonder. That Legolas had gotten this far, injured as he was, with infection and fever too, was a small miracle. That he and his brothers had just happened by as they was another. They had not intended on joining the patrol that day, Elrohir was supposed to go alone. At the last minute, all three decided to go.  
  
"Estel, I have not slept in almost three days. I am so tired..." the elf sighed and molded himself into his friend.  
  
"Then sleep now, my friend. When you awaken you will be in my home."  
  
Feeling comfortable at last in the strong arms of his best friend, Legolas closed his eyes and slipped off into sleep. 


End file.
